Blossoming
by FloatingBubbles
Summary: Five flowers, five women, five romances, five vignettes. From meeting to marriage. SenshiGenerals, SerenaDarien.
1. Lita

Disclaimer: It occurs to me that disclaimers are not amazingly necessary. After all, no one on is really making any money off of these stories…at least, they shouldn't be. But, in the interest of tradition, I am taking this moment to renounce all claim of Sailor Moon, and anything else in this story that I ought to renounce claim of.

A/N: So, this is kind of a character/relationship study using the Senshi. A couple notes (this is the longest A/N that will show up in the whole thing. Bear with me.):

(1) Like in my other SM stories, I westernized the references, etc. Honestly, I know more about western culture, and I really don't want to mess up someone else's culture. Furthermore, I don't think you can really understand another culture well enough to write about it unless you have visited the place, and, since I've never been to Japan, and I don't intend on going just for this story, I have my excuse.

(2) I gave the Generals normal names, too. Usually I dislike it when they are changed, but, honestly, what are the logical chances of four guys who just _happen_ to be best friends all sporting the names of minerals? Initials correspond

(3) While this can easily be read without reading my _Awkward_ series, it fits into said series. That is, there are no contradictions between the two. This is set a while after _Stumbling_, as shown by the fact that Ami is already dating Zach (Zoicite). Vague references to the _Awkward_s are made, but nothing essential to the plot.

(4) The T rating is just for language. I'm paranoid.

(5) I purposefully made no reference to the girls being Senshi or the guys being Generals. In fact, in this world, there is a high probability that they're not. This is, quite frankly, because this doesn't really have a storyline, and I didn't want to have to incorporate the mess there would be if they _did_ have superhero identities. Also, I'm kind of going for _normal_ relationships. Not "I've loved you in a past life" relationships.

(6) I originally put this under the Usagi/Mamoru section, but then I realized that I wasn't being entirely truthful. Really, all the pairings get love, but, since AmiZoi is my favorite, they show up a teensy bit more. So, I'm re-filing this under the AmiZoi section.

(7) I always end up apologizing for being long winded. I'm sorry. Really.

Without Further Ado:

* * *

**Blossoming**

_Meeting: Orchid_

Lita Kino was an avid gardener.

She grew practical, sturdy plants; plants that were useful for cooking; plants like tomatoes and rosemary and thyme.

She also grew orchids.

When she had started up on this hobby, her friends had looked at her in confusion. "But Lita," they had said, "why would you want to grow something as useless as orchids?"

(Actually, to be truthful, they hadn't sounded nearly so polite about it. Or coherent, for that matter. More like a jumbled, "Lita? Orchids? Why? What the Hell?") (Lita didn't expect anything less. She could not, in her right mind, expect four loquacious women to courteously state a logical question in complete unison and agreement, now could she?)

She had explained in a stilted manner that she just wanted something pretty in her garden, at which point the girls had (prudently) backed off. Though they remained supportive after their brief moment of disbelief, it was their incredulous reaction that put Lita off of telling other people about her slight obsession with the flowers.

She knew that, if she did, they would ask her questions that she was far too embarrassed to answer.

For she had, indeed, been truthful in her reply to the girls—she loved orchids because they were pretty. Nothing more, nothing less.

Orchids were so delicate, so lovely, so exquisitely grateful…

…so very unlike Lita herself.

Really, Lita found herself envying the flowers' uselessness.

They didn't need to _do_ anything. All they needed to do was sit there and look pretty (look beautiful) and they would be taken care of, waited on hand and foot, simply to maintain their looks.

Lita was far more like the other plants in her garden: useful, sturdy, resilient, and rarely noticed for anything but that she could make any food taste good when applied in enough quantity.

Not that Lita wanted to be taken care of all the time. In fact, if someone were to try to do _that_, she would, to put it bluntly, kick their ass. She was not what one would call a "submissive" person—she was strong-hearted, strong-headed, and took charge of every situation she could.

She didn't really want to be useless, either, though the orchid definitely was so. She liked being useful—liked being able to help her friends with culinary and physical pursuits, liked feeling like she was doing something worth doing, that she had a purpose.

But she couldn't deny that it might be nice to have someone want her in their garden just because she was herself, minus any benefits she could give them. To have someone she could rely on, someone who would take care of her even when she felt useless.

Oh, her friends did that, to some extent. She knew that they'd accept her, at the very least, no matter what, and probably take care of her through anything.

But, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she would admit that she always rather imagined the person who would treat her like an orchid to be male.

(Mina had occasionally accused her of being a romantic. Looks like she was right.)

What she wanted, what she really wanted, stripped of all metaphors and symbolism, was to fall in love.

True love.

Unconditional love.

***

"Come on, Lita. You promised, didn't you?" Ami didn't usually whine, but this was a dire situation.

Lita was, with reason, reluctant, "I dunno, Ami. Isn't this going to be…awkward?"

Ami looked exasperated, "Of _course_ it's going to be awkward. But it'll be even _more_ awkward if I'm alone, so I _need_ you!"

Lita couldn't really refuse that, so she grumbled something about "they're _your _boyfriend's friends, you know. Don't see why _I _have to meet them" and followed Ami into the café.

It was crowded inside the café, but the two girls were immediately waved over excitedly by a tall blonde man who had clearly been waiting for them anxiously, as evidenced by the frazzled state of his long, pulled back hair and the speed with which he jumped up when he saw them.

Lita amended that thought: he had clearly been waiting for _Ami_ anxiously. For, indeed, his eyes had locked on the blue-haired girl immediately. Lita was just the moral support.

(Lita had, upon her first conversation with this man, mistaken him for a stalker. While she was still a little distrustful, she couldn't help but feel heartened by the fact that his gaze did not make the usually shy Ami blush, but made her smile, instead.)

By this point, they had reached the table, and Zach had greeted his girlfriend, after which Ami introduced him to Lita.

He smiled, shook her hand, and turned to the three young men sitting around the table. Upon opening his mouth to speak, though, he was cut off by a jumble of words.

"So, this is the famed Ami, huh? I—"

"—who's the other one, then?—"

"Why is your hair blue—"

"—do you have two girlfriends, or some—"

"Where's the bathroo—!"

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on, guys. This is, indeed, the famed Ami" (Now, she _did_ blush) "and her friend, Lita" Zach gave the aforementioned young women an apologetic look, before saying, "girls, I am pained to present my discourteous and altogether rude friends: Kevin," a white-haired, forbidding looking young man, "Jason (the bathroom's over there, by the way, Jase)," this blue-eyed boy gave the girls a smile and a hello, before disappearing off in the direction where Zach had pointed, "and Nick." Nick had medium brown hair and a vague look, even though Lita was sure that he was paying intense attention.

"Hi." Ami was clearly a bit embarrassed, now. But Lita saw her friend relax as Zach's hand slid subtly into hers.

Lita had no such reassurance, but Ami shot her a grateful smile, which helped a bit. Lita took a deep breath as Kevin began asking Ami something.

Then, Zach smiled at Lita a bright, lighthearted smile, and asked her something about how he'd heard that she was a fantastic cook.

Ah, here was a subject she understood! She was on home ground.

Okay. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

***

It wasn't, either. Lita soon found herself embroiled in a conversation with Jason (who had returned from the bathroom), Nick, and Zach about (of all things) different herbs used in cooking.

Lita didn't even realize how much time had passed in the company of these men until Kevin (who had been talking with Ami) announced that he was going to grab a bite to eat, and did anyone want to come?

Jason was the only taker, so Lita stood up in order to let him get past her to leave. As the two began to walk away, Lita made to sit back down, only succeeding on tripping on the chair and stumbling.

She felt herself being steadied and looked up to see Nick smiling down at her, "Whoa there, need some help?"

"No, I don't. I can take care of myself just fine, thanks." Lita would later explain her rudeness by explaining that she was surprised into it. (Jason, upon hearing this excuse, would politely scoff).

Nick just laughed, though, and said in his vague sort of way, "I suppose you can, but you seem like the sort of girl who takes care of herself a lot," she gave him an odd look, "I thought you might want a break."

Unable to find a good answer to that, Lita just shrugged, and looked around the room. Jason and Kevin had gone, and Ami and Zach seemed to be in their own little world, despite the fact that the pair was virtually devoid of public displays of affection.

Nick, (in his first sign of nervousness) broke the silence by asking, "Come talk to me?"

Lita was jolted out of her observations by the question, but, once she figured out precisely what he was asking, she looked at him with cynical, suspicious eyes.

"Oh, _I _get it. You need _someone_ to talk to while Zach's over with Ami and your other guys are gone, don't you?"

"On the contrary, I would just enjoy your company."

She looked up sharply at his honesty, surprised for the third time that afternoon, and she was struck with a rather shaky, completely random, altogether improbable, but extremely heartwarming thought.

"Nick," she found herself asking, "do you like orchids?"

* * *

A/N: By the way, I didn't actually factor this into the writing of this chapter, but, if anyone's interested, the all knowing internet claims that orchids mean "Love, Beauty, Refinement, Beautiful Lady."

Review! Tell me what you think! The next chapter is _First Date: Rosebud_. Take a guess which Senshi that one is about! Tell me which one you think it is in your review, by all means!

~FB~


	2. Rei

Disclaimer: I don't anything except for that which I own. Sailor moon does not fall under the latter category.

A/N: I don't have much to say here. This is Rei's chapter. I hope you enjoy it. I'd also like to advertise a little bit here, and ask you all to go onto my profile and answer my poll =). Your input would be very much appreciated.

And, because there aren't many of them, I would like to mention my adoration for my (thus far) six reviewers: **Pretty Much A Big Deal**, **BladeMaxwell-GoddessofDeath**, **Miss DnG**, **Lily Topaz**,** DavisJes**, and** Sunwritten**. Yay reviewers!

Now, with that, I give you chapter two of _Blossoming_:

* * *

_First Date: Rosebud_

It was nearly impossible for Rei Hino to fail at something she put her mind to.

She took pride in that fact: she pushed herself constantly to do better; people who knew her would describe her as ambitious, hardworking, ready to excel. And she loved it. She loved the feeling of competency that success gave her, she loved knowing that she could do anything, _anything_ she tried.

Except, that is, make a plant live for more than twenty four hours.

It was ridiculous, really. She watered them, put them in the sunlight, tended them near constantly, prayed over them, gave them that powdered "plant food" stuff, and even, when she got _really_ desperate, occasionally talked to them. And, still, they died.

She would never let Lita go near them, even though Lita was the green thumb of the bunch. No, every single time she made a point of claiming that _this_ was something she would do _herself_.

Her friends, laughingly, called her "the plant murderess" and the "floral fatale" and "miss withering thumb," but they all knew that she hated the failure.

There was nothing more embarrassing, in Rei's opinion, than having a guy come to her flat to pick her up, give her a bouquet of flowers, and put her in the position where she had to politely compliment the blooms that she knew would be dead in under a day. She knew that _he_ would never know, but she had this irrational little hatred for the entire situation that had a tendency to make her very testy and irritable.

That testiness (which her friends referred to as a "secondary premenstrual syndrome") might or might not have been a good excuse for why the young woman went through men almost as quickly as she went through flowers.

Really. Each subsequent man who dated her seemed to annoy her more than the last, just as each time they gave her flowers it bothered her more than the last time.

She had yet to break up with a man over flowers, but she had gotten pretty damn close. More than once.

***

She had met Jason somewhere random. She knew it had been through Ami, but she could never quite remember the terms of their meeting.

She never really tried to, either. She figured that, since she didn't remember it, their meeting was, therefore, not very interesting.

Later, when she found that he didn't really remember it precisely either, she was doubly certain that it didn't matter.

She had multiple reasons not to like him, she knew. In fact, based on her citations of annoying traits in other men, she shouldn't have wanted to go near Jason at all.

For one, he was attractive. Blonde haired, blue eyed: prince charming in the flesh. That, in itself wasn't so bad, but he _knew_ he was attractive, which was. He struck her as kind of arrogant, that way. Then, of course, there was the fact that he was ridiculously good at antagonizing her. He seemed to have a sixth sense as to exactly what would get her the most riled up at a given time, but he never actually went over that fine line separating teasing from tormenting, no matter how close to it he got. While Rei couldn't help but feel admiration for the young man's sense of balance, she found his daringness to be utterly frustrating. And there was the principle of the thing: he was her friend's boyfriend's cousin; and if that didn't sound like a bad romance film, she didn't know what did. Rei _hated_ bad romance films.

She'd liked him anyway.

So they had starting spending time together; never on an official "date," just gravitating towards each other whenever Ami or Zach (and, later, Lita or Nick) dragged them all on a group date.

Then, somewhere along the line, Jason had—or maybe Rei had? Maybe it had been her…but then again, did it really matter who was responsible?—suggested that they get together sometime.

Go out, have dinner…somewhere classy, of course (that was definitely him. He seemed to have a fixation with the word "classy" that never ceased to annoy or amuse her).

She—or maybe he—had accepted, the when, the where, the why, and the how had been set.

Next thing Rei knew, She was wearing a little black dress and waiting for that telltale knock to sound at her door.

***

"Maybe we'll have some dead carnations around the house. We haven't had any of those, yet," Lita said jovially, motioning Ami to pass the bag of pretzels her way while Rei glared.

Serena, pretending to take no notice of her disgruntled roommate, replied "Oh, I know we've had them in the house before. I think Mina got a bouquet once, didn't you, Mina?"

Rei glared harder as Mina answered, "Yes, I did. But I don't kill them off nearly so quickly."

Rei was, suffice to say, quite annoyed. But she would hold her tongue, just glare, give them the silent treatment, wait until—

_Knock Knock._

Ah!

There!

Still, as she rose regally to her feet, Rei's argumentative side couldn't keep silent any longer, "Well, I'm going to get that. _Traitors._" She moved to get the door, (_Knock Knock) _but paused for a moment to amend her statement with, "Well, except Ami, of course," in an effort to spite the other girls.

Dear, shy little Ami. Wouldn't say a cruel word, even if—

"I'm betting on tulips, Rei!"

—nevermind that.

_Knock Knock. _

Rei was already feeling cranky as she wrenched open the door, and the sight of a dapper-looking Jason standing before her holding a single, red, still-budding rose didn't help her temper much.

She barely even heard the young man greet her ("Why hello, Rei. Lovely as always."), let alone register her own greeting in return ("Mmm-hmm."), so intent was she upon the hall light shining upon the blood red flower.

The plant, she thought as she glared at it maliciously, probably wouldn't even have time to bloom before it met its premature death. She had to restrain herself from physically snarling at it.

Rei _hated_ flowers.

Smiling a bit, he silently offered her the rosebud, and she took it, deciding disgustedly that it was too shiny to be a very nice rose at all, and would likely deserve its quick execution.

With this thought in mind, she, just as silently (and rather roughly), examined a shimmering petal, only to realize that it was, indeed, shimmering quite unnaturally for any normal flower.

It seemed that this petal was no petal after all.

At least, if it was, Jason had gone through a ridiculous amount of trouble to wrap it in red-hued tin foil.

Rei looked up at Jason, surprised, only to find that he was gazing at her with expectant blue eyes and a touch of a smirk.

"Well. Go on."

She did, gently unwrapping the scarlet foil, her eyebrows finding their way closer together in puzzlement as she gazed down at the dark brown that lay beneath the foil.

It was formed like a budding rose, but no rose had ever grown in that color. No, if she didn't know better, she'd think this was…

…"Chocolate?"

Jason just laughed and gently tugged her out of the doorframe by her wrist. "See, I've never really liked flowers that much," he slid an arm around her waist, "they've always seemed kinda useless to me."

He began to lead her away with a nonchalant shrug, "At least this one tastes good."

Rei took a vicious bite out of the flower and smiled.

She wholeheartedly agreed.

**

* * *

  
**

A/N: Again, I didn't factor the traditional meaning of rosebuds into my writing of the story. Actually, I just remembered once seeing a chocolate rosebud as described in this chapter. However, if you'd like to know, the traditional meanings are:

_ROSEBUD - Beauty and Youth, a Heart Innocent of Love; ROSEBUD (RED) - Pure and Lovely; ROSEBUD (WHITE) – Girlhood_

Anyway, I three more things:

(1) I'd love to have your input on the poll on my profile. Please take one or two minutes out of your life to check that and answer it. It doesn't take very long compared to the amount of joy it will elicit from my heart.

(2) As always, please review! What good is putting this on the internet if I get no input?

(3) I want your opinion on another note, too. Do you think I should break this story up into multiple one-shots instead of a five-chapter story? I've been contemplating that…

~FB~


	3. Mina

Disclaimer: I dis my claim.

A/N: Here's Mina's chapter. I'd like to reiterate my desire for you all to go onto my profile and answer my poll…I'm sure I'll bother you with that again at the end of this chapter. Just a warning, there.

Anyway, my usual tribute to my glorious reviewers (The ones who I haven't already commented upon): **Nyridian **(--I have a note for you at the bottom of this chapter), **ultimatebishoujo21.**

Now, on with the show:

* * *

_Courtship: Daffodil _

Minako Aino was fickle.

She herself would be the first one to admit to this fact. She'd do it proudly, too. With emphasis on all the right words and dramatic intonation.

At which point Rei would probably tell her to stuff it and stop being a diva, but that was beside the point.

Mina was fickle about clothing, jewelry, music, food, candy, movie stars, movies, books, animals, colors, lighting fixtures and Disney Princess preferences.

What she was most fickle about, however, was flowers. Or men.

Truthfully, she didn't make much of a distinction between the two. Mina would classify her dates by the flowers they brought her. Or maybe she would classify the flowers by the men. Really, it was all a, as Mina herself put it upon being questioned, "Muddy ball of wax."

However she came to the conclusion, Mina found that certain flowers held particular connotations for her long after the men who assigned those connotations had left her life altogether.

Carnations, for instance, were forever ruined for her after having been given by a rather obnoxiously self-centered man who had (in a fit of irritation from Rei) been deemed to be "more enamored of his horrid yellow tweed jacket than of anything else." Mina could no longer stand the sight of tulips because they brought to mind a beau so obsequious that it was disgusting (she always chuckled to remember Serena's gagging as he debated at length whether Mina's eyes were better comparable to the "luminous moon" or the "purest blue crystal"). Chrysanthemums made her retch as she recalled a particularly messy affair involving a man who simply could not keep his hands off of other girls (it had ended abruptly between them after he had attempted to seduce Lita in their apartment kitchen).

Truth was, Mina was running out of flowers that had _any_ positive connotations for her. She would often bemoan this fact, claiming that "all my relationships end badly! Is there something wrong with me?"

And it would be up to Ami to explain: No, there was nothing wrong with Mina. It could be mathematically proven that, considering the number of dates Mina went on and the number of repeats she had for flowers (roses, for instance, were getting particularly tiring. They came up a lot. Mina had yet to fall for a man who gave her roses, and she doubted she ever would), it was just about inevitable that something bad happen in connection with most flowers, and, since Mina was such a drama queen, she would, naturally, remember the bad feelings for each floral specimen simply so she could have something to gripe about.

Mina did not find this analysis to be particularly complimentary, and therefore decided to disregard it. This (in Ami's opinion) didn't make it any less true, but Mina's friends humored her and her comically large ego, anyway.

***

Mina liked to blame Rei for the circumstances under which she met Kevin. After all, it _had_ been Rei who had told her (not asked, Rei never asked) to come on a double date that night. Rei, in turn, blamed Jason: after all, it was he who waited until the last minute to tell Rei that his friend Kevin was coming along on their date and, oh, would you mind bringing some company for him?

When confronted with this accusation, Jason preferred to blame Zach. He could have blamed Kevin (it would have been more logical to blame Kevin), but Jason just liked blaming Zach for things. Cousin's prerogative.

Whoever was to blame, it didn't change the fact that Mina had been dragged (okay, not completely _dragged_, per say) to a little restaurant in the middle of nowhere and forced (okay, not _forced_, exactly) to sit across from a moderately attractive (but, really, _white hair_?) but completely unresponsive young man.

Seriously. Once Rei and Jason started talking, Mina found, it was near impossible to find one's way into the conversation. Therefore, she loquaciously attempted to engage the stubbornly stoic Kevin.

"So, well, they already told you I'm Mina, and I got dragged here by dear Rei—who probably doesn't have the least idea that I'm talking about her even though she's sitting _right next to me_—nope, no response—and I suppose you're in the same situation with Jason over here."

"Yes."

"What do you think you're going to eat? I always get water, of course, or iced tea—I think my cooking-crazed roommate has spoiled me for artificial flavorings and corn syrup and whatnot, or whatever's in soft drinks. But I always have trouble figuring out what to eat. The pasta's nice, but I haven't had ravioli in such a long time…do you have any idea what you'll eat?"

(It was almost unheard of. She had finished her entire statement without once being interrupted. It was very unusual. And very awkward feeling.)

"Yes."

(Multiply the awkward feeling by one hundred or so.)

"Well, what are you going to eat? You seem pretty certain of yourself, not that you shouldn't be, of course."

(There was only one solution for awkwardness, in Mina's opinion.)

"Fettuccine Alfredo."

(And that was to talk more.)

"See, I didn't peg you as a fettuccine guy at all. I thought of you as more of a…well, honestly, you didn't seem like the Italian type at all, really. Chinese? No…not even Mexican…really, I don't have any clue what type of food-eater you strike me as. Not that I can talk, I'm a really picky eater. Fickle, even…"

***

By the end of the night, Mina was certain she would scream if she had to sit uncomfortably in the line of Kevin's silent gaze for one more minute.

Which is why she was talking even faster than normal when, as the men dropped the two girls off at their apartment, she bid the white-haired man goodbye.

"Alright then, it was a nice night and now I'm going to go pry Rei-Rei away from your friend and go because I'm very tired and I think I should get to bed."

Again, Mina marveled at the unsettling way he let her finish her sentences. Usually she just talked until someone cut her off, but Kevin, it seemed, always patiently waited for her to complete her thoughts before replying.

But reply he did, with, surprisingly, more than one syllable: "Mina, I was wondering if I could see you again. Maybe sometime soon?"

She gaped at him for a moment: this man had showed little interest all evening—granted, he had never been disinterested, and had always seemed to listen intently to her words, but had also never replied at length to her questions, and never spoken at all when not asked something specific—and was now voicing the phrases that usually intimated a second date. Furthermore, she had felt none of the normal indicators of a successful relationship with him. There was no initial sizzle of attraction, no desire in his gaze, no heat when they accidentally brushed. Curiosity, yes; romance, no.

But for once, it was Mina who was at a loss for words; for once, it was Mina who answered monosyllabically: "Yes."

***

He brought her daffodils.

No one had ever brought her daffodils before.

She felt ambiguous about them, to tell the truth. A little distrustful, a little wary. Even as she placed them in a vase her brow was furrowed, as if they were a puzzle she was attempting to figure out.

He took her to a restaurant (of her choice) (Mexican), and listened to every word she said, answering quietly and precisely.

She realized that she rather liked being listened to.

She also realized that she didn't like not being replied to.

Still, at the end of the night, she found herself scheduling a third date.

And, as she looked at the vase of daffodils waiting inside the door, she found herself gazing at them with a distinct feeling of pleasantness, even if it was tempered with wariness.

***

He brought daffodils again, the next time. Her perspective towards them had not changed significantly during the interim apart, and the date was nothing special at all.

In fact, the only particularly interesting part of the whole night was when she yelled at him for his monosyllabic answers.

In response, he had begun laughing hysterically at her, apologized with profuse dignity (for laughing _and_ for not talking), and promised to speak his mind about her discussion topics from that point on.

He had also told her that he found her fascinating.

She decided that she rather liked daffodils.

***

As dates came and went and weeks passed, her opinion of those star-shaped flowers fluctuated frantically.

He drove her crazy with his impassive patience, while she made him insane with her ability to grab hold of a subject and harp upon it until the cows came home. Some days, when they argued, all she would want to do is rip the yellow flora's heads from their thin green bodies. Once, after a particularly terrible fight, she actually did.

Then, on the other hand, that romance and passion and heat and sizzle that she had so missed on their initial meeting gradually insinuated itself into their relationship. Suddenly, the pounding heart and wild giddiness that she had expected to come at first sight came later, after she knew him, after he knew her. It was times like these, when she felt particularly joyous in their relationship, when she cherished her daffodils like children, watering and feeding and tending to them with a smile on her face and a skip on her step, until all that were needed were the daffodils, not even the man himself, to cause her pulse to quicken.

***

It was just an average, run-of-the mill date—no milestone, no special occasion. Just the thousandth or so—no one felt like counting—romantic engagement between the pair in question.

Still, Mina was quick to jump up and open the door when she heard the familiar sound of the bell signaling his arrival.

And she smiled, and he smiled—his small smile that she had had to accept as genuine, though it lacked all the ostentatious joy of her own—and she noticed a bouquet of yellow flowers that, like a ritual, like a tradition, he held out to her.

She took them gratefully, looked down at their scented heads, and looked Kevin right in the seal-gray eye.

"I love daffodils."

_I love you._

* * *

A/N: Again, the flower's real meaning: DAFFODIL - Regard, Unrequited Love, You're the Only One, the Sun is Always Shining when I'm with You.

This time, it actually kind of worked, don't you think?

Anyway, I'm again going to ask you to both check out my poll and review. Just a clarification about the poll: all the summaries there are in regards to the same story. It's just how I'm going to summarize that story that's the issue.

Also, Nyridian: I did get your PM, but I'm afraid that, considering certain issues beyond my control, I can't get PMs easily. Therefore, while I loved getting it (it made me v. happy :-) ), I'm going to have to ask you to keep it to the reviews :-). Seriously, if you hadn't mentioned it in passing in your review I would never have gotten your PM. Anyway, I hope my above note about the poll cleared up your question, and I know you said that you liked certain #s of poll answers, but it mixes them up each time it shows them, so I don't know what those correspond to. Thank you for the beautifully long reviews, though.

REVIEW, my lovely people!

~FB~


	4. Ami

Disclaimer: I **dis** the **claim** to anything at all Sailor Moon oriented. Again.

A/N: Well, it has been a while! (Sorry, I got writer's block). So that you can go straight to the story, I'll try to keep this short and sweet. **Make certain you read the notices in the first chapter! **They're rather important. I wouldn't have written them there if there weren't.

Also: **Thank you, to all my fabulous reviewers! It is you who kept me writing this chapter!**

No, really. If I hadn't known you were out there waiting, this chapter would never have been finished.

So, with that, what I know many of you have been waiting for (and my personal favorite pairing)…the Ami/Zoi chapter!:

* * *

_Engagement: Bluebell_

Ami Mizuno never gave flowers much thought.

A least, not of her own volition. They were plants, they were pretty, and she had far more important things to do than to discern a favorite from among the many varieties of flora that she was so infrequently presented with.

Whenever she was confronted with the dilemma of choosing flowers for some occasion (For instance, after one of Mina's amateur theatrical performances, or a formal dinner Lita was arranging that needed last minute centerpieces) she never thought about what _she_ like the best, but instead what Mina would enjoy, or what would look best with Lita's décor.

As it was, she invariably chose chrysanthemums. They were the staple of the generic, ever-adequate floral bouquet. They were pretty, sturdy, marginally cheap, lived relatively long, could _always_ be found in _any_ flower shop, and came in a variety of different colors. There was nothing risky about mums, nothing fragile, nothing objectionable at all.

Ami did not really analyze her reasons for always buying chrysanthemums (as a medical student, she had far more interesting things to analyze), but, if she had, she would have been able to boil it down simply: chrysanthemums do not make a statement.

But even in all that time using them, Ami grew no particular attachment to mums.

In fact, it didn't even occur to her that she ought to have any emotional preferences for a particular breed of flower until her senior prom date (the identity of whom was all but irrelevant, since he had basically been bribed into the capacity by her well-meaning friends) asked her—in a very polite manner—what sort of flowers she would like him to bring her.

Her reply was a surprised pause, a bit of a stutter, and finally, a very definite "chrysanthemums."

Her reasoning behind the choice—for, whether she analyzed it or not, she had at least one sensible reason for almost everything she did—was that mums were easy to come by and relatively cheap and made life easier for him.

In other words, she suggested them because it was simpler to do so, not because she particularly liked them.

However, studious Ami Mizuno was rather a creature of habit, and, therefore, the placement of chrysanthemums as her "favorite" flower remained.

***

The first flowers he gave her were bluebells, and she was not fond of them.

Bluebells were, after all, droopy little things—they always hung their heads towards the floor as though they didn't think they were pretty enough to show their faces to the world. Ami was not the sort of girl to be attracted to insecure people, and she was _certainly_ not the sort to be attracted to insecure flowers.

Even Nick agreed that they looked "like they're dead."

So it is unsurprising that Ami found them rather depressing. But, at the time she had been far more interested in things other than Zach's floral choices.

Furthermore, it didn't really matter what flowers he had given her, since she had accidentally left them sitting on a small table in the back corner of the café where they had met for their first date. Ami supposed that someone had found them—likely drooping woefully among broken ceramic plate shards—and had discarded the sad little things.

That was all well and good, but he just kept on giving her bluebells! Ami was under the distinct impression that it really shouldn't be this frustrating, after all, they were only flowers, but she just couldn't bring herself to explain to her boyfriend that whenever he handed her bluebells it felt like he was giving her a symbol of pathos and insecurity.

So it was with great trepidation that, one day when Zach was lounging on her apartment's obnoxiously white couch, she swallowed her nervousness and said quietly, "Zach, we have to talk."

Zach, needless to say, immediately dropped his hands from their places fixing his ponytail and flashed her with a look much akin to a startled deer about to be run over with a very large truck. The effect of the look was further heightened by his wavy blond hair falling long on either side of his face in as close to disarray as it was prone to going.

"If you're going to break up with me, at least use a better line."

It was only then that Ami realized just how ominous she had sounded, and she giggled. A few seconds later her giggle was cut off by guilt as she noticed real traces of fear behind the flippant comment.

"No, no, no. I'm not breaking up with you." She walked over to where he was sitting, and, plopping down next to him, patted him on the head a little condescendingly (she stifled another giggle), "I just think I ought to tell you already. You see, I don't like bluebells."

Zach stared at her with perplexed green eyes, and Ami thought that that did, indeed, sound a bit ridiculous now that it was out of her mouth, and not nearly important enough for her to have been worried about saying it.

"You mean you just terrified me out of my wits over nothing more serious than your _floral preferences_!?" Zack stood up, looming over the petite young woman.

Ami just looked up, not perturbed in the least, "Well, yes. Sorry about that."

Zach collapsed onto the couch in a heap, shoving a pillow over his face while mumbling "_Sorry about that_, scared me half to death thinking she's gonna do something stupid and here she is saying _sorry about that_, what the hell is…"

She leaned over the disgruntled lanky young man and, plucking the pillow off of his face, asked, "Did you even hear what I said?"

"No, I just heard that you were not breaking up with me. I was too relieved to listen further."

"Well I have no intention of breaking up with you anytime soon, you dolt. I happen to be in love with you. Now, I don't like bluebells."

"Really? I suppose I should stop getting them for you, then…pity."

"Pity? Why?"

"Bluebells…I think I've come to just associate you with them, Ames. I mean, I initially started getting them because they were blue, right? Actually, they were the only blue flowers the store I went to had in stock at the time." Zach sat up, searching for the words to articulate his thoughts, "But they're kind of like you, you know? You've always got your little blue head bent over, stuck in some book, and people don't think you're paying attention…but you observe everything that's going on." He ruffled her midnight blue hair, eliciting a mildly surprised squeak, "and you're modest, and you don't like it when people look at you, and you try your hardest to keep your head down and fade into the woodwork…but you're absolutely worth looking at."

"Bluebells are _not_ pretty."

"I think they are."

"Oh? What? _You? Think!?_"

"You need to stop spending time with me, you're getting sarcastic."

***

Despite having brushed Zach's commentary off (Ami was never very comfortable in romantic situations, and would far rather discuss physics than flowers, a fact which Zach new well, and had probably been considering when he let her drop the subject so quickly), Ami did think about what he said.

She thought about it for the rest of his visit, and long after he'd left. She even had trouble sleeping due to Zach's bluebell views, though she _did_ sleep eventually.

She had also never been one to lose much sleep over something as trivial as a flower.

(That being said, she would never freely admit to just _how much_ sleep she lost that night.)

***

Ami Mizuno was clearly not expecting any visitors.

After all, Ami was not in the habit of entertaining guests while sporting an oversized, paint-smudged t-shirt (which had actually been a perfectly fit-for-company article of clothing until Serena began to feel artistic), ill-fitting old shorts, extreme bed hair, a bowl of fresh strawberries and a copy of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_.

She wasn't _expecting _any visitors, but that was the trouble with having a spontaneous boyfriend.

The doorbell rang, Ami got up, opened the door, and the next thing she knew she had been rushed inside in a whirlwind of blonde hair and black shirt and green eyes. He—for Ami had ascertained the identity of her attacker as one Zachary Tanzan, insane and spontaneous boyfriend—immediately grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the couch rather frantically, all the while shoving a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers into her arms.

Ami was about to admonish the frazzled looking man before her ("What are you thinking, barging in unannounced!? You could have at least called!"), but she was cut off as he began to speak.

"Ami. Ami, Ami, Ami. Ami."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to be brief about this, because I know that you don't like it when I'm long winded and I don't get to the point."

"I appreciate that."

"So I was going to do this very romantically—I even brought wine—but you know I have a habit of over-thinking things sometimes—hey! Don't give me that look! You do it, too!—and I kind of got myself crazy on the trip over here. And I really can't take the suspense of going through the whole romantic setup, I think I'd go crazy—I hate suspense. This is why I never watch suspense movies—and I've decided that what I really need to do is get it over with and ask already."

"I'm glad you're being so brief."

"You really are getting very sarcastic, aren't you? Give me a break, I'm nervous." And he clearly was. Oh, his impeccable state of dress showed nothing, but his hands, his hair and his eyes told Ami a more truthful story. One hand was clenched—anyone else would think in anger, Ami knew that he was embarrassed that it was sweaty with nerves and trying to hide it. His other hand was clasped around a small, velvety black box. His hair was back in its usual low ponytail, but Ami knew from the knotted, wispy look around the hair tie that he had been running his fingers through it and that it would be painful when he tried to take it out later.

His eyes were hopeful. They were a lot of other things, too, but mostly they were hopeful.

She wouldn't have been surprised if _her_ eyes were kind of hopeful, too.

Because while her palms were dry and her hair was in no more disarray than it usually was after a day without brushing, her heart was attempting to pound its way out of her chest at the sight of that black box in his hand and her breath was coming out with an almost imperceptible shake.

"Well," her voice shook, but only very mildly, "are you going to get to the point?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then ask your question."

The words were startled out of him, "Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

There was a baffled silence.

"That was…quick. Not that I'm not elated and all, but couldn't you at least think it over a bit?"

"I thought it through while you were getting to the point. You're kind of transparent." Only now, as Ami matter-of-factly informed him that she would marry him, did Zach realize that she was blushing violently.

As he leaned into her, an enormous smile covering his face, Ami found herself murmuring, "You know, they're going to be extremely disappointed in the romance levels of this proposal."

There was no need to ask who "they" were. "They" consisted of four giggling girls with extreme romantic aspirations and one blond cousin named Jason.

"Well, they'll just have to live, because I wouldn't have it any other way." Zach replied only after having kissed her thoroughly. "Oh!" He then announced, pulling away, "And here's what I forgot to give you in my rush."

He held out the little velvety black box that, Ami now found, contained a simple silver ring that made her smile.

She unclasped her hand to—wait! Unclasped!? Ami looked down in surprise as she realized that she had been gripping a bouquet of flowers the whole time and she had only just noticed.

Zach (who was eagerly cradling the ring) noticed the bemused expression on his newly-agreed fiancée's face and, a moment later, noticed the place the expression was directed. Then, with a jolt, he remembered a discussion from about a week earlier.

Zach's joyful demeanor changed abruptly and he stuttered out, "Oh, damn! You said you didn't like bluebells, didn't you? Sorry, sorry, I was just so nervous when I went to pick out flowers, and I suppose it was just habit. You know what; you don't even have to take these. I'll bring you some better flowers—how about some nice chrysanthemums—sometime—"

For some reason, the mental image of Zachary Tanzan holding out a bouquet of multi-colored mums caused Ami to cringe, and, with an oddly affectionate smile, she took the ring from the blonde's outstretched, now-limp hand and slid it on.

With the very plain, unadorned silver ring on her left ring finger and the very blue, drooping bouquet of bluebells in her right fist, Ami cut him off:

"No, no."

"_You're modest,…"_

"I want the bluebells."

"…_and you don't like it when people look at you,…"_

"In fact,"

"…_and you try your hardest to keep your head down and fade into the woodwork…"_

"I've changed my mind."

"…_you're absolutely worth looking at."_

"You can just keep giving me bluebells."

* * *

A/N: What do you think?

By the way, the meaning of "Bluebell" is "humility," though I did not use that knowledge in writing the one-shot.

****Please check the poll on my page! I would love to hear your input!****

And, in the plea of fanfiction writers everywhere, REVIEW! If you do, I promise I'll put the next—and final—chapter up soon! It's gonna be a good one!

~FB~


	5. Serena

Disclaimer: I have no claim on anything Sailor Moon, or anything else that the claiming of would give me legal issues. Furthermore, I am not making any money off of my writings here. Right. Rub it in, why don't you?

A/N: I would like to begin this by apologizing. Profusely. I've actually had this written for a while, but I _forgot_ to put it up. I honestly thought I already had. Which is kind of embarrassing to admit…so I won't force you to read any more of my ramblings before we get to the story. Just remember, all the notices from the first chapter count here, too.

Enjoy the final chapter!

* * *

_Marriage: Rose _

Serena Tsukino had always known what flowers she would hold when she got married; it had only ever been the color that varied

She was, after all, a truly hopeless romantic, and had therefore always been enamored of roses and weddings, and the pair of them together had been the most wonderful thought.

When she was very, very young, Serena had had a preference for yellow roses. Her parents later theorized that this was because her nursery wall had been white, with vines of yellow roses painted across the wall. And in her crib and, later on, her very small bed, Serena would stare at the vine and the yellow flowers thereon for hours on end. Yellow roses quickly came to mean home and comfort and the warmth of a bed.

Her love for yellow roses abruptly ended at the age of eight when her father brought home a bouquet of yellow roses for her mother and Serena, thinking of the flowers as the friendly, warm, painted variety she was used to, managed to prick herself painfully on one of their stems.

While the incident had ended her affair with _yellow_ roses, it did nothing to stop her growing fascination with roses in general. And, less than a year later, Serena grew to adore a different variety of rose.

Pink, to be precise.

Pink was her favorite color at the time. Years later Serena would decide (okay, so her friend Ami would be the one who actually proposed the idea, but Serena verified it as correct) that this was because the color pink gave off a vibe much similar to her own state of mind from ages nine to fifteen: cute, simple, romantic, but nothing too deep.

She loved pink roses because she loved pink, plain and simple. She wore pink dresses, used pink bows to tie up her (later-referred-to-as-meatball-shaped) pigtails, imagined herself to be the pink fairy in sleeping beauty and dreamed of wearing a poofy white wedding dress and holding pink roses.

Until she was fifteen, she loved her favorite roses for the color, but, once she grew out of her pink phase, her next favorite was chosen for a different reason.

As she entered her mid-teenage years, she began in her preference—more like admiration—of the lavender rose. Not because she was particularly fond of lavender, though.

She admired the lavender rose because it was unique, individual, uncommon, special; just as she in all her teenage glory was striving to be.

But her fascination with lavender roses was short lived, because they were not easy to find, and Serena's gardener-friend Lita had told her that it would be far too much trouble to find an entire bouquet of the flowers without having to dye roses. Serena knew beyond a shred of doubt that she would _not_ be having _dyed_ roses at her wedding.

So she had, in her sixteenth year, promptly changed over to a more long-lasting preference: white roses.

White roses became her favorite for multiple reasons.

First of all, white looked good on her. Her favorite sundress was pure white with puffed sleeves and a circular gold pattern on the neckline. It made her feel like a princess.

Furthermore, white roses looked so clean and pristine and pure and fresh, as though they could never be soiled by the trials of life. Serena just never got tired of looking at white roses.

And they would look lovely, pure white roses complimenting a pure white wedding gown. She would be able to be not only a bride, but also an angel.

White roses, she decided, were her absolute favorite.

***

The first time Darien Shields gave her a rose, Serena was fourteen years old.

Oh, she had known him for years beforehand; that obnoxious guy at the arcade that she seemed to be magnetically (or, at least, clumsily) attracted to. She knew he was friends with Andrew, who worked at the arcade and was completely gorgeous, and she knew that he called her "meatball head" in reference to her usual hairstyle. She knew that he delighted in teasing her and saying nasty things to her and making her cry.

As far as Serena was concerned, that's all she needed to know about Darien Shields.

So when February 14th of her fourteenth year came around, and Serena was upset that no one seemed to like her at all, and all the other girls (okay, not _all_ the other girls, but quite a few of the other girls) had valentines whereas Serena only had a few chocolates from her girlfriends, she avoided Darien at all costs.

This was difficult, since he spent a lot of time at the arcade and Serena and her friends happened to use it as their hang-out spot. For a while, however, she managed to secrete herself behind the tall form of Lita Kino.

Soon (actually, very late, but it felt too soon to the morose Serena), Lita had to go tend to her garden (her plants simply _had_ to have water!). And Rei had to finish up the temple chores she had been procrastinating while she talked to he girls. And Mina had to get her beauty rest and Ami had to study for tomorrow's math quiz.

And, next thing she knew, Serena was continuing her verbal outpouring in the direction of the ever-sympathetic Andrew.

"I mean, I'm not really so horrible, right? I'm just as good as any other girl, but I don't get valentines like _they_ do. What do they have that I don't? Am I really so not noticeable? I was feeling so excited for today, too, and then it's all ruined because no one loves me and I'm all alone and all my friends are gone and—"

Her self-pitying rant was silenced as Serena found a splotch of red right in front of her face—too close for comfort, in fact, causing her to jolt backwards. Getting a good look at the splotch, she now saw it to be a red rose, which she took shyly, following the hand that had held it down an arm and into the face of silent, sixteen-year-old, darkly handsome Darien Shields; Mr. Obnoxious himself.

But maybe, Serena thought as she wiped away her tears and sniffed the red rose and uttered a small, "Thank you," he was a good guy after.

"Hmph. Well, if I'd know that that would be all it took to shut you up I would have done it hours ago. Honestly, your self-indulgence is utterly pathetic."

The again, maybe not.

***

The second time Darien Shields gave her a rose, Serena was sixteen years old.

Furthermore, it was because he didn't make her cry.

Darien had made Serena cry quite often in the time the pair had known each other. In fact, making her cry had become rather a sport. Serena was—as Darien pointed out at ever chance he had—a complete and total crybaby, prone to tears at even the slightest of comments.

Years later, Serena would forget precisely what he had said that day and would ask him to please jog her memory. Darien would claim that he had forgotten, too, though whether he had or not he actually _had_ forgotten no one save Darien himself would ever know.

Anyway, what he said was irrelevant.

What _was_ relevant was that Serena did not cry.

She just looked at him coldly, hurt, angry and dry-eyed. Then, as he braced himself for tears and screams and all the other indications that this was just more banter with the blonde girl, she turned around and walked away.

And the truth was, as odd as it was, that as long as she cried Darien knew that she'd eventually forgive him. Now, he didn't know. For some reason, this bothered him.

The next day, as Serena walked her normal route home from school, she found a certain dark-haired boy walking in time with her. She stopped angrily. So, after a moment, did he. Then her anger turned to confusion as she noted the red rose in his hand.

He held it out to her.

She took it silently and looked at him expectantly.

"This is as close to an apology as you're going to get. Enjoy it, meatball head, because it isn't going to happen again."

Somehow, she found herself smiling.

***

The third time Darien Shields gave her a rose, Serena was seventeen years old.

She was surprised, of course. After all, it was not as though Darien Shields, Mr. Obnoxious himself, made a common practice of—

"What are you doing sitting—no, not sitting; _lounging_—on my front steps, hmm? I'm in a bad mood, and you and your mean jokes are _not_ about to make it any better."

The dark-haired man—for he was now far more man than boy—smirked, "Wow. A tall dark and handsome young man is sitting" at her sharp glance, he amended, "—okay, _lounging_ in front of your house, clearly waiting just for you in all your meatballheadedness, offering you a single red rose, and you don't even ask him why he's here."

"Excuse me, but I see no roses, red or otherwi—" she suddenly found herself confronted with a single crimson rose. She looked up at him—for Darien was no longer lounging on her front steps, though she was not entirely certain when he had moved.

As soon as she managed to catch her breath, she suspiciously asked, "Why are you here?!"

"Ah, there you go." He smiled at her, and then blushed, "I wanted to ask you out. On Friday."

"As a date?"

"Yes, meatballhead. As a date."

"You're not joking around?"

"No, I'm not."

"This isn't another nasty trick?"

"No, it isn't."

"But….but you don't like me!"

"Yes I do."

"Oh."

"So…is that a yes?"

Serena, her face now flushed a brilliant pink, almost automatically nodded yes.

After that, Darien gave her roses—red ones—far more frequently.

***

Serena looked around the room with a nervous excitement, nearly unable to contain herself at the thought of what she knew was right behind the large pair of double doors before her.

Her entire body on edge, she could barely hear the muted chatter of her four closest friends, whispering at each other was they fixed their bows and smoothed their dresses. She felt her father take her arm with a sense of detachment.

In fact, she felt this sense of calm detachment from everything, everything except her wild joy and the scent of flowers and the sound of the band suddenly changing music into a traditional wedding march.

The others had heard it, too, because a moment later those large, wooden, carved doors swung open and the procession began.

Her father whispered something to her, but she didn't hear him. All she could see was _him_, and all she could feel was joy.

She began to walk.

The sunlight strewn along the aisle was a shimmering golden yellow, the blush on her beloved's face was the palest pink, her best friends all wore pretty dresses of lavender, and she herself was gowned in ethereal white.

Then she looked down, and she smiled.

After all, she had always known what flowers she would hold when she got married; it had only ever been the color that varied.

Her roses were red.

* * *

The Very Last A/N: This, of course, has no bearing on the story, but the traditional meanings of different roses are**:**

ROSE (YELLOW) - Decrease of Love, Jealousy, Try to Care

ROSE (PINK) - Perfect Happiness, Please Believe Me

ROSE (LAVENDER) – Enchantment, Love at First Sight

ROSE (WHITE) - Innocence and Purity, I am Worthy of You, You're Heavenly, Secrecy and Silence

ROSE (RED) - Love, I Love You

This was actually my very favorite chapter to write, despite Ami/Zoi actually being my favorite pairing. Go figure. I think I just like colors.

Anyway. That being said, this is the final chapter in _Blossoming_, and it was really fun to write…so please! Review! If you are not an author, you cannot quite fathom how it makes my day just to see even one little review notice on my screen. If you _are_ an author, I bet you quite get it, and you know just how cruel it would be to have thoughts on this story and _not_ share them.

So, with a final plea that you **review**, I bid you adieu and the end.

Love,

~FB~


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